Dethroned
by leannesidhe
Summary: You are the queen of New Rome – steel was embedded in your bones. They would not rattle you so easily. (but you knew – you had been dethroned by a daughter of Aphrodite – and nothing could be more insulting) ONESHOT. Revamped.


**dethroned**

He used to call you his queen.

Each night he'd whisper those words in your ears, breathe them out against your lips. And yes, you know that you are praetor, leader, ruler – you are, in every sense of the word, a _queen_. The people of New Rome fear you, respect you, _love_ you.

(after all, they had crowned you by choice, had they not?)

You control a legion whose loyalty was unquestionable and unwavering, soldiers who'd fall upon their own swords in a heartbeat if you ever gave them the command.

And yet -

A son of Jupiter – the king of the gods – falling at your feet, turning into putty beneath your touch – it was only during those moments that you felt what true power was like.

You are a queen but you knew then that your throne was not in New Rome's court.

(it sat in the center of his heart)

* * *

He disappears without a word and you feel like that little girl again who'd watched, helpless, as her home was destroyed. You don't cry (you have forgotten how to) but the pain devours you slowly and you think death would've been more gentle.

(in reality, death had always been kinder – love said so himself)

You search for him tirelessly because you can't bring yourself to accept the notion that he – that he was –

(you can't even complete the thought)

And then the gods dropped another piece of the puzzle (a boy with jet-black hair and emerald-green eyes) and the newcomer reminds you of _him_.

(you felt it in your very bones that it was a sign; you dared not hope, but you couldn't keep the relief from flooding your whole system)

* * *

Your heart leaps in your chest, strains to free itself from your ribs because he was still just as painfully beautiful and god-like as he was the last time you saw him.

(you let your heart soar; you let your guard down;_ you let hope take root_, even though life has taught you never to do so, to always, _always_ expect the worst)

His eyes finally find yours and they flash with recognition, then surprise, then guilt and regret.

(something was wrong and you don't know what, you don't understand _why_ – )

A girl with rainbows in her orbs and honey in her tresses comes into view and intertwines her hand with _his_.

(even a child could've placed the pieces together)

The betrayal chokes you, grips your throat like a vice. Searing pain – agony like you have never felt before replaces the blood in your heart. The ache clambers past your ribs, steals the air from your lungs, constricts your throat, stings your eyes. But still your composure gives nothing away. Spine straight, chin tilted, eyes sharp and calculating – you are statuesque, you are cold marble, you are the epitome of royalty.

(you grit your teeth; you never had this much trouble with keeping up facades before – it came to you naturally)

You remind yourself that you are a daughter of Bellona, the fearsome goddess of war, and you will_ not_ be perturbed.

(you chant this in your head over and over, clinging to the mantra desperately, as if it was your lifeline)

You are the _queen_ of New Rome – steel was embedded in your bones. They would _not_ rattle you so easily.

(but you _knew_ – you had been dethroned by a daughter of Aphrodite – and nothing could be more insulting)

* * *

The goblet touches your lips and before you know it, the feast blurs around you in a swirl of noise and color.

(self-indulgence had always disgusted you, but tonight you don't care, you just want to _forget_)

Still, you have a duty to your legion. So you play the role of the perfect leader – you talk to the Greeks, attempt to establish a semblance of diplomacy. You throw yourself into whatever distraction the feast offers, but you cannot escape the inevitable. Eventually, your gaze lands on _them_ and the pain you've locked up in a dam surges like a storm and suddenly, you were _drowning_.

He tips his head back and laughs, and the sound feels like a fist driven to your stomach. He gazes upon her, and you see unbridled joy in his eyes, you see a familiar fondness in them – a tenderness which he had once reserved for one person only.

(you look away because something inside you finally _snaps_)

The doubt began to gnaw at you then, because you've seen the way your co-praetor looks at the child of Athena.

(no one who'll see them would ever suspect the authenticity of their affections)

So you ask yourself the horrible, horrible question.

(did you even have a throne in the first place?)

You want to blame it on the gods –

(curse Jupiter, curse Juno, _curse them all_)

for wiping away his memory, for tainting his Roman blood with that of another culture, for taking him away from you – but deep down, you know that the fault was not theirs.

(the ugly truth was this: he is a son of Jupiter and the sins of his father run in his veins)

* * *

An anger so violent churns inside you, leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. You want to shout at the unfairness of it all, to spit at the Fates for being so hell-bent in making your life miserable. You want to destroy, to rip your hair out, to scream and scream and _scream_, until you can speak no more, until life itself has abandoned you.

But you _can't _because your kingdom cages you and your duties shackle you to the ground. .

(for the very first time you feel like a prisoner and not a queen)

You watch the aircraft rise up to the sky, a looming ship sent by the gods to mock and torment you, to remind you of his betrayal. You watch it until it is but a speck in the horizon; until the battle cries of your people dwindle down to silence.

(at this point, nothing surprises you anymore)

You face them and immediately, a livid augur storms up to you, his eyes blazing with fury. In front of all your comrades, he demands _graecus_ blood – silently daring you to refuse, to give the people reason to think that you are weakening.

You meet his stare and there must've been something feral in your eyes for he quickly casts his own to the ground. You stand up to his challenge and raise your sword because tonight, you will show no mercy; tonight, you vow that you will _never_ be betrayed again.

(tonight the augur finally gets what he wants)

Somewhere inside you, the voice of reason pleads for you to stop, but the call for vengeance drowns out everything else.

He took your crown and placed it on another's head but you will show him that even crownless –

_You are a queen._


End file.
